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“Sometimes,” she said, “when everything hurts so much, you feel like you’re going to drown in yourself—like the whole world is quicksand and the harder you thrash, the worse it gets—this can help pull you back to the surface.”

At first, it looked like just skin. A metal shark fin leaving no trace. But then the blood rose to the surface and brought to Mickey’s mind the word “unzipping.” Ruth held the cut to the light and rotated her forearm, her skin opalescent against the dark blood. Her face was ashen, whiter than it had ever been. But her eyes were sparkling.

“Sometimes you just need to know where you are,” she said. “You know? Where the outside world ends and you begin.”

They watched as the blood trickled down the curve of her arm, gravity in color. But then she opened the alcohol swab and caught it. It was all hers, that blood. It belonged on her side.

Ruth wiped the blade with the rest of the swab as she pressed toilet paper to the cut, her fingers hard against her flesh. She looked at Mickey, the razor clean and shining in her outstretched hand.

“Now you try.”





PEYOTE





THE ROOM WAS EMPTY except for a solitary desk, which held a solitary computer. But not the flat, fits-into-your-back-pocket kind you have nowadays. This was a dinosaur of a thing: all sharp white corners and vented sides panting machine heat. The black screen bulged as if overcrowded, stuffed to the gills.

“Do we just type?”

“I’ll do it,” I said, grabbing the keyboard. “You make sure the printer is on.”

Cal gave me a look but sat on the floor without a word, pulling the equally prehistoric printer from the shadows of the desk. I waited until her eyes were busy, and I clicked, coaxing the screen to life.





Welcome to the Looking Glass! What are you looking for today?


         The location of a person or object (time and/or geography)



     An individual human memory



     Return to menu





“What kind of outlet is this for?” Cal asked, holding up a cable.

“I don’t know,” I said without looking. My hand hesitated, but only for a second before I clicked B.

“Hold on, there’s a bin of cords here,” Cal said, approaching the desk from the back. “Let me know when it lights up, okay?”

A new box opened on the screen, a cursor blinking within it.

         Name:



     Specific Memory Context:





“Anything yet?”

“Nope,” I said, my eyes on nothing but the screen.

“I bet the damn thing itself only takes three seconds and Freaky Felix just gets off on torture by nineteen-nineties technology.”

“Probably.”

I typed and hit Enter. The screen stuttered and froze.

“I mean, if you think about it, this thing is kind of like his great-grandfather,” Cal said, throwing another cable over her shoulder. “Still nothing?”

“Nope,” I managed to say. The spinning circle appeared, vibrant and energetic.

“Pey, I can see the light from here!”

I looked down at the printer.

“Right,” I said. “It just started.”

Cal wiped her hands on her pants and came back to my side. I felt her lean over my shoulder, the buttons of her shirt grazing my arm.

“Where are we at?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s processing.”

Cal stayed there, close enough that I thought my beating heart might hurt her.

“Why would it be loading like that? Aren’t you supposed to be on a map screen? Are you sure you opened the right—”

ONE MINUTE AND FORTY-FIVE SECONDS

The announcement was loud enough that Cal and I both jumped. But only she whirled around, so I caught the screen when it loaded.

And just like that, there it was. My information, my memories. All of me, from when I was someone. I clicked print and slammed the mouse to close it out, but it was too late.

“Pey, what is that?” Cal asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as it was a knife made verbal and cold.

The printer awoke with a crackle and whir.

“Shit,” I said, slamming the mouse again for effect. “It restarted.”

“Bullshit,” Cal said. “What did you do?”

ONE MINUTE

“I’m sorry.”

I abandoned the keyboard and fell to my knees. The printer paused but I could see the first two inches of paper, and with it came all of the exhausted metaphors people love to pair with the smooth and white. I felt high from the sight. Ready to conquer.

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re sorry?” Cal demanded as she commandeered the keyboard. “What did you do?”

FORTY SECONDS

The printer started again and I held my fingertips to the dwindling space between me and my future. My past.

Cal typed, and a map flickered on the screen. The image enlarged in stops and starts. From my position, I could tell it was closing in on America. That was something, at least.